Tringgg!!! Tringgg!!!

Tringgg!!! Tringgg!!!

The annoying bell-like sound kept ringing persistently. Archael couldn’t quite place what it was, but it was definitely irritating. It echoed relentlessly, pulling him out of a deep sleep he hadn’t even realized he was having.

Sleep? Me? Asleep?!

Archael jolted upright, his movements abrupt and unsteady. A sudden dizziness hit him, and it felt like all the blood had drained from his body. He reached out instinctively, grabbing the ground with one hand to keep himself from collapsing. 

He couldn’t be asleep. 

Archael wasn’t supposed to sleep—he was just a fragment of the system, a creation of Norns to help players achieve greatness. 

He wasn’t even human. So how could he possibly be asleep?

The bell-like sound still didn’t stop, each ring piercing through his thoughts. His eyes flickered open, blurry and unfocused, but the source of the noise was clear—a translucent blue window, hovering at eye level. It floated stubbornly in front of him, no matter how he shook his head or tried to look away.

Huh?!

Player?

Archael stared at the window, baffled. He’d never seen a system window before. As a guide, he never needed one—he and the system were one. He didn’t need visual prompts or commands; the tasks came instinctively, ingrained in his existence. He knew exactly where to be, who to guide, what to do.

But now, seeing this window, everything felt wrong. It was absurd, and the words on it were even more unsettling.

Is there a bug in the system? Why can I see the system window? Why is it calling me ‘Player’?

Where am I? What am I doing here?

His thoughts spiraled. Just moments ago, he was at the final gate with the heroes, waiting for it to be closed. Now, he had no idea where he was or why he was seeing a system window calling him something he’d never been before.

Archael didn’t dare touch the system window, afraid any interaction might worsen whatever error was happening. With his vision half blocked by the persistent screen, he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

The place felt familiar—he had been here countless times before. It was the city plaza, the same spot where he had given his final guidance to the chosen heroes before they went to the last gate. It was also the very place where the first gate had appeared on Earth.

But something was off. The usually half-ruined city plaza was intact. The benches were in perfect condition, the small shops around the square were whole, and the buildings stood undamaged. It looked as it did before the gates brought destruction.

Then he saw it—the unmistakable sign of his nightmare turned into reality. His eyes fell on a massive screen mounted on a nearby building. An ad for a new song by some band were displayed, and in the corner of the screen, the date and time were unmistakable:

20XX - 12 - 06, 11:59 PM

This was exactly one day before the gate appeared. 

Seven years into the past.

Archael stared at the big screen, watching as the time changed to 00:00 o'clock. Midnight. The whole world had been rewound by seven years, but why? 

How? Who could have done it? Was it the system? 

He had no way of knowing; he was disconnected from the system, cut off from the very essence that had defined his existence. He felt adrift, like a ship lost without its compass. All his life, he had moved according to the system’s will, every action dictated by its commands. 

Now, for the first time, he had to think for himself. There was no guiding presence, no voice in his head but his own. It felt strange, unsettling, like he had been abandoned.

As his mind wandered, trying to piece together what had happened, a swirling energy began to form in front of him. It was subtle at first, barely noticeable, but it grew stronger, pulsating around the area where he stood. The energy twisted and spun, forming a whirlwind that seemed to pull the very air around it. It was a familiar feeling—the raw mana of the universe, the lifeblood of the system, the force that kept everything in motion.

Archael was a being born from the Norns system, a creation of mana itself. He didn’t know when the system had come into existence or why it was there, and it never really bothered him. As a guide, he was just a small piece of a much larger puzzle, with limited access and privileges. He was born with a task: to help chosen awakened individuals and guide them toward closing the gates. His knowledge and abilities were confined to what the system allowed him to know, just enough to complete his mission.

But even with his limited understanding, Archael knew that he could weave the mana of the universe in ways that awakened players could not. No matter what, he was still a being created from this raw, untamed energy.

The whirlwind of energy in front of him grew fiercer, swirling violently, the air around it crackling with power. Dust and debris were sucked into its center, spinning faster and faster as the mana coalesced. It was like watching a storm being born—a vortex of light and shadow, twisting and turning with a life of its own. The very fabric of space seemed to bend, warping as the swirling mana reached its peak.

The air grew heavier, vibrating with an almost electric charge. It pulled at everything around it, creating an intense pressure that made it hard to breathe. As the swirling storm reached its climax, the mana began to compress, folding in on itself. Bright arcs of energy flashed, illuminating the area in bursts of blinding light. The whirlwind roared, its energy coiling tighter and tighter, condensing into a singular point.

Then, as suddenly as the whirlwind had gained power, it vanished. The storm of mana dissipated in an instant, leaving behind only a pulsating, blinding red light. It was raw and chaotic, throbbing like a heartbeat, and as the light began to stabilize, it took shape—the familiar and ominous shape of a Gate.

The Gate stood there, pulsating with red energy, a portal that bridged worlds. Its surface rippled like liquid, shimmering with a mix of dark reds and deep blacks. Wisps of mana leaked from its edges, twisting like tendrils of smoke that evaporated into the air. This was no ordinary door; it was a wound in reality, a tear that linked their world to something far more dangerous.

The plaza where Archael stood remained empty for a moment, until he heard the sharp shriek of a passerby breaking the silence. He turned his head slightly, watching as people began to trickle into the plaza, drawn by the scream and the strange sight that followed. A few curious onlookers gathered near the edge, whispering among themselves, while some of the younger ones had their phones out, recording videos, capturing the scene to share with the world. Within minutes, social media was buzzing with posts and videos of the mysterious Gate that had suddenly appeared in the heart of the plaza.

Archael knew he couldn’t stay here any longer. As a guide, he once had the ability to will himself in and out of visibility, appearing only when necessary and blending into the background when not. 

But now, something was wrong. 

He couldn’t do it,  his powers seemed disconnected. People were beginning to notice him, giving him strange looks. It wasn’t just the Gate drawing attention; his clothes were out of place and time, and he was standing unnervingly close to the Gate.

He needed to move. Now.

Without drawing any more attention, Archael began to walk away, his movements fluid and precise, as nimble as a cat. He navigated through the crowd with ease, slipping between people without them even realizing. The translucent blue system window still hovered annoyingly at eye level, but he ignored it, focusing instead on getting away from the growing commotion.

Archael slipped into a small alley, his feet moving on instinct as he wound his way through the familiar paths. He knew every nook and cranny of this city, every hidden corner and quiet space. The alley twisted and turned, its dim light casting long shadows against the worn brick walls. His steps were careful but swift, carrying him past a few more buildings until he reached his destination.

A small clinic came into view, its tattered sign swaying slightly in the breeze. Archael slowed his pace, crossing the street to sit on a bench opposite the clinic. The place was quiet, and he sank into the bench, eyes still glancing at the system window that refused to leave his sight.

This was the clinic where one of the heroes had worked—a general practitioner before she became an Awakened. Archael settled in, his back pressed against the bench as he stared at the worn-out sign, waiting. He didn’t know what else to do. Maybe if he waited, the error would fix itself. Maybe the system would reconnect, and everything would go back to how it was.

But as time passed, nothing changed. The translucent blue window still hovered stubbornly in front of him, the |Confirm| button staring back at him, urging him to accept this strange new reality.

Archael sighed deeply, the sound carrying the weight of his confusion and frustration. He closed his eyes, letting his head slump down as he tried to collect himself. After a moment, he reopened his eyes, straightening his posture and lifting his head to stare straight ahead at the clinic across the road. But his real focus was on the system window hovering persistently in front of him.

His right hand slowly moved upward, shaky and hesitant. Every joint in his hand trembled, the effort causing sharp jolts of pain as he felt the blood drain from his fingertips. His muscles were weak, uncooperative, but he didn’t stop. Inch by inch, he pushed through the discomfort, determined to reach the button. The blue window seemed so close, just within his reach.

The button was right there—just one more push.

With a final, strained movement, Archael’s trembling finger made contact. He clicked the Confirm button.

Tringgg!! Tringgg!! Tringgg!!